


magnas inter opes inops

by Mossgreen



Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [68]
Category: 2770 ab urbe condita - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Auctions, Public Nudity, Slave Trade, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26430553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mossgreen/pseuds/Mossgreen
Summary: Being sold is never a fun day out for a slave, as Ven is about to discover
Series: 2770 ab urbe condita [68]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1059413
Comments: 35
Kudos: 44
Collections: 2770 ab urbe condita - the collected fiction





	magnas inter opes inops

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking about setting up a Discord server for anyone who wants to talk about anything to do with the 2770auc universe... Would anyone be interested in such a thing, or not?

Ven's stomach was full of butterflies, and for a very good reason. Today was the day of the sale - the house and its contents were all being auctioned off because Mistress didn't want to live in Rome and felt that an auction would be the easiest way of disposing of everything. She had never really wanted to live in Rome and was looking forward to returning to the countryside of Hispania, and just wanted to be rid of everything in the domus, and the domus itself.

The slaves had spent the last week clearing out all the little things - clothing to second-hand dealers, books to the nearby used book shop, bed-linens to be recycled, various other things to other places, leaving the furniture, dinner service, kitchen equipment, potted plants and other large ticket items the only things in the house apart from the slaves themselves, who were also going under the hammer. A tiny storage room had been set aside for the bags they had packed their personal items in, each simple canvas haversack labelled with the lot number of its owner, and the cots in the slave dormitory were stripped down to the mattresses, blankets neatly folded and labelled, sheets put into a bag and set aside to be sent to a recycling centre.

They managed their last goodbyes to one another in hushed voices, knowing that their new owners might not allow them to contact each other. Even if they did, it wouldn't be easy, though _Ave! serve_ had pages where slaves could post short messages for free, just to let people know where they were now.

The auctioneer and his assistants were moving around the house, double-checking labels and cross-referencing things with the catalogue listings. Eventually the house slaves were herded back to the storage room and ordered to strip and pack their tunics with their possessions. Once naked, each slave had their fingerprints cross-checked with the slave database and a placard (just a piece of card with a hole punched in two corners and threaded on a piece of string) hung round their neck with the lot number written on it, before being taken one by one back into the main part of the house.

The assistant's grip was firm on Ven’s arm as he was taken to the latrine to relieve himself and then back through to the atrium. His arms were pulled behind him and cuffed there. A long chain had been looped around the columns at the corners of the impluvium at waist height, and Ven’s cuffs had a shorter length of chain fastened to them, the other end of which was then padlocked to the long chain strung between the pillars. The set-up gave him enough leeway to turn around if desired but no ability to move more than a step or two in any direction.

"Get comfortable, the auction doesn't start till two and there's the showing first. You're going to be here for quite a while," the assistant told him, straightening the placard hanging around Ven's neck. 

One by one, more of his fellow slaves were brought out to join him, all facing out from the impluvium and spaced apart on the chain. Others were chained along the wall, and more would be out in the peristylium. They were all as naked as Ven was, fully on display as everything else in the house was.

Eventually the auctioneer had everything arranged to his satisfaction and one of his assistants crossed to the main entrance of the house to open the doors to allow the public inside for the pre-auction showing - the ostiarius was chained somewhere behind Ven. He supposed he’d be the 'former ostiarius' now, though.

This was not how Ven had expected his first sale to go, though he'd be hard pressed to describe what he _had_ thought it would look like. He'd known he would be stripped for it - slaves always were, after all, unless they were _obviously_ old and past their prime and being sold for what they knew more than what they could do, or something.

There were a lot of people milling around now, all of them clothed, all of them critiquing this or that - the china that Ven's fellow slaves had wiped over again and again to ensure that it was completely spotless, the furniture that he had spent all of yesterday polishing, the potted plants that had been watered three days before so that the soil would be the correct level of damp this morning. 

And of course the slaves themselves were not exempt from the examinations and comments.

"Nice height. Decent muscles, too," said one woman, feeling Ven's arm before her hand slipped down to his bare arse. "Nice bum, too. Definitely a maybe."

He shifted a little, making the chain clink as he did so. He desperately wanted to cover himself, which was probably why his hands were cuffed behind his back. Slaves didn't get the privilege of modesty - nudity was a mere hazard of slavery, after all, and clothing was a privilege. It was technically impossible (at least in theory) to humiliate a slave by commanding their nudity because they ought to be humiliated just by being slaves. At least, that was what Ven had heard taught.

It didn’t stop him _feeling_ humiliated at his total nudity and restricted movement - he could move in a semi-circle of perhaps two feet radius, and he only had that much slack so that he could turn and allow the citizens to see his back.

Among all the circulating citizens looking at various articles and making marks in the catalogues they'd been handed at the door, only one or two stood out to Ven. One of them was a man several years older than him, whose dark hair was showing signs of going silver. He was wearing a richly embroidered dark green tunic, over which was a pallium in cream with a wide border embroidered in the same dark green as his tunic. His face did not look at all friendly - he seemed to be the sort of person who would set the very highest standards for his household, and Jupiter help those who failed to match up.

He seemed more interested in the slaves on sale than in any of the furniture or other household goods,and Ven saw him ask a question or two of one of the slaves secured to the wall. 

He had come accompanied by a younger man who had something of the same look to his face - his son, perhaps? Ven could not help overhearing their conversation as they moved around the atrium.

"I don't get why they're not gagged. A ring gag would make it just as easy to see their mouths, and prevent talking, after all."

"True, but they may need to answer a question, and if being over talkative is a flaw, it is good to know that from the start. What about this one?"

They had stopped by Ven and he froze. 

"Oh, I don't know," the younger man said. "He might do as a replacement for Cinnamus, I suppose."

"Hmm." The reply was noncommittal, and the older of the two reached to feel the muscle of Ven's arm and then his chest.

"He seems to be intact, which is good," he added, his hand moving to Ven's genitals. Ven shrank back fractionally, out of sheer instinct, but that hand still cupped his prick and balls, weighing them speculatively. The intrusive touch lasted only a moment and was gone. 

"Skittish, but that's understandable," the older man said to his companion and then turned to address Ven. "So, what did you do in the household?"

"Well, if you will insist on grabbing at the boy's dick, what do you expect?" The younger man spoke peaceably, the question preventing Ven from speaking.

Ven risked a quick glance up, meeting cool blue eyes before dropping his gaze to the richly tooled leather belt that the older citizen was wearing.

"I am - I was - a house slave, sir," he managed, his mouth dry, once there was space for him to reply to the question he'd been asked.

"Can you read?"

Ven thought that was an odd question; hadn't the mistress informed the auction house of things like that?

"Yes, sir."

"Read this for me." It was a magazine that was held up to him and a long patrician finger indicated one section. Oh - it was the sale catalogue.

"Lot 824. Potted palm in a blue glazed pot depicting Horatius at the bridge." Thank Minerva that Latin was a logical language, he'd had to figure out two or three words on the fly and wouldn't have managed if there weren't strict rules for pronunciation.

"Turn around."

There was no hint given as to whether he'd got the reading right or not and he turned, restricted by the length of chain from his wrists.

"No scarring, good. Pass me your tabula for a moment, Publius." Ven felt his finger taken and pressed to the sensor of what must be the younger man's tablet. 

"Hmm, no access to anything beyond his record and the pecūlium tracker."

A hand cupped his bum, then patted it. "Turn back round."

He did so, keeping his eyes lowered.

"What did your master call you?"

Oh, this was the sticking point. He'd be renamed, whoever bought him - it was so outlandish. He wondered what sort of names this man's slaves had - perhaps they were all numbers, named in sequence. It had been known, after all.

"Ven, sir."

There was no comment made to that. Instead, his bare shoulder was grasped and he was turned back towards the light from the compluvium above and behind him and told to open his mouth. The older man reached up with one hand to grasp Ven's chin, pulling his jaw down a little and opening his mouth further. He whimpered a little at the discomfort.

"Teeth are all in good condition," he said, letting go. He stepped back, and his next comment was directed at his companion. "We’ll see."

They moved away to continue browsing; the sale wouldn’t actually start for another hour or so. Ven's nose was itching a little and of course he couldn't scratch it with his hands secured behind him so he had to resort to attempting to rub it on his shoulder as best he could, which wasn't very effective but would have to do.

A lady stopped in front of him next. She lifted the placard displaying his lot number before thumbing through her sale catalogue. 

"House slave, 23, verna, no known faults…" She looked up. "Well, he's pretty enough, I’ll grant you that," she told her companion before looking back at Ven. "Can you cook?"

"No, lady. I can learn, if that is your will." Of course he would, if she bid for him, and won him. He wouldn't have a choice in the matter. He wasn't entirely sure he'd enjoy it or be good at it, but what slave was ever given the choice to say 'no' to a free person?

He had been standing in the one place for about four hours by the time the auction began. He was hungry, thirsty, his feet ached and so did his shoulders, where his arms were drawn behind him and locked into unrelenting cuffs. He could see his fellow slaves, people he'd lived and served with for the past four years (and some of them longer) were also trying to ease their discomfort. If only they could be let out even for a few minutes, it would make all the difference - but of course that was impossible. He concentrated on flexing and relaxing his muscles, starting with his fingers, then forearms, then upper arms, rolling his shoulders a little (as much as he could without drawing undue attention, anyway).

That neither he nor his fellow slaves had been fed or watered today meant that they would not need the latrine during either the showing or the auction itself, of course, and it would not endanger them to go without for one day. He just hoped that he would be fed by the end of the day, and resigned himself to expecting no more than slave slop, hopefully with something a little tasty mixed into the bland gruel.

He didn't know how many people had stopped to look at him, nor how many had marked their catalogues to remind themselves to bid for him. The uncertainty was beginning to get to him by the time the sale began.

"All right, ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention for a moment, please. It would be appreciated if you could show my assistants your bidding number if you win an item, so that we can arrange payment and pick up or delivery with the minimum of fuss and delay once the auction is over."

He tried to tune things out a little - this was his world, such as it was, that was being sold off piece by piece, after all. Not to mention his friends, some of whom had served alongside him since his youth. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Lot three seven five," the auctioneer chanted. "Two marble benches carved with scenes from mythology, suitable for outdoor or indoor use…"

The benches went for a thousand sestertii, and then the auctioneer was next to him. "Lot three seven six, one house slave, twenty-three years old, verna, in good health, able to read and write, no known faults. I’ll take fifteen hundred…"

He was finding it hard to breathe; all these people - _clothed_ free people! - were looking at him, bidding on him, going to pay someone money to own him… He couldn't help tugging at the fetters holding his wrists together behind his back, wanting desperately to shield himself from the eyes looking him up and down as if he were no more capable of feeling than the marble bench had been. It was a futile attempt, as he had known it would be, but to stand there naked - especially as one of the assistants was deliberately pointing out his muscle tone before his hand wandered further down Ven's body to his prick.

He forced himself to breathe, slowly, one breath in, pause, long breath out, pause, a breath in…

He was not one to have panic attacks but who could blame anyone for having one in this situation?

Dimly, he heard the bidding reach three thousand… three thousand five hundred…

He knew slaves were bought and sold - it happened every day, in every corner of the Empire! He just had not really expected to be one of them, not as part of a house clearance because the mistress had found herself a new husband all the way out in Hispania Tarraconensis.

"Five thousand… Once! Twice… Sold! May we see the number, sir? Thank you. Lot three seven seven, then - a lovely statue in the form of a naiad pouring water…"

So, that was it. He had a new owner now, someone else he would have to call Master. Or Mistress. A new home with new rules and new fellow slaves - he hoped they'd get on; he had heard some horror stories about slaves in the same household who couldn’t get along.

The aftermath of the auction was confusion. Assistants were scurrying all over the place, reuniting items that had been separated for the sale (the buyers had only needed to see one of a pair of matching floor lamps, after all.) Someone was sent to retrieve the slaves' bags, matching labels to the lot numbers they still wore round their necks and dropping bags by the slaves' feet to cause as little delay as possible once the sales were finalised. 

It was the tall citizen with the frosty blue eyes who had won the bidding on Ven. He was accompanied by an auctioneer's assistant carrying a tabula. 

"You'll see we're acting on behalf of Prisca Sabina," he was saying. "The records of Lot 376… Oh, the slave C87365…" He fiddled with the tabula for a moment before holding it out to the citizen. "Please check that everything is correct and then put your finger on the sensor."

The citizen did so, then Ven was turned around and his hands unclipped from the long chain between the pillars. There was a fumbling at his wrists as the cuffs were removed.

"Your finger on the sensor here, slave," the assistant said. 

Ven pressed his finger where indicated.

"All yours. Pleasure doing business with you, sir. The slave's possessions are in the bag there, you can take the tag off now." And with that, he vanished into the crowd to oversee another sale, leaving Ven alone with his new owner.

He desperately wanted to dig his tunic out and get dressed but didn't know if he would be allowed just yet.

The man was a few inches taller than him, fairly trim, and didn't _look_ as if he were a cruel man - but it was impossible to know that just by looking. He did look as if he would not accept anything less than perfection, from anyone in his house, and Ven shivered.

He pulled the sale tag with the lot number from Ven's neck. "Do you have a tunic?"

"Yes, s…. Master." That was going to take time to get used to, Ven thought. He'd only had one master for his whole life, until his death four years ago.

"Well, you may put it on, then."

"Thank you, Master." He hurriedly bent and pulled his tunic out, shaking it out and dragging it over his head. He immediately felt better once dressed, although he was still hungry and thirsty. He pulled the bag strap over his head, settling it on one hip - it was just a simple canvas haversack; after all, nobody was going to waste more money than necessary on a slave, especially one being sold, and prepared to follow his new master to his new life.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> magnas inter opes inops: (Title) - poor in the midst of great riches  
> Hispania: Spain (Hispania Tarraconensis and Hispania Narbonensis, and Baetica)  
> domus: town house  
> Ave! serve: (literally ‘Hail! slave’) - cheap magazine aimed at the servile population of the Empire  
> impluvium: shallow pool in the centre of the atrium of a Roman house  
> ostiarius: the doorkeeper  
> pallium: a male citizen's garment, less colourful than a toga, that could be any colour, and was usually fastened at the shoulder with a brooch  
> tabula: tablet computer  
> pecūlium: pocket money, slave savings  
> compluvium: the hole in the roof through which rainwater was allowed to run into the impluvium below  
> Hispania Tarraconensis: Roman province in modern-day Spain


End file.
